His Wardrobe
by Olivia Beige
Summary: In the gray orphanage bedroom, an orphan has himself and a wardrobe which should never be burned.


**Originally posted: 2012.**

* * *

The door opened and someone called his name. Looking up, he heard from a distance that it was bedtime. His mind was still on what he was reading that he jumped a little when that someone raised their voice.

"I'll be closing the lights," Martha was saying. Her eyes found the book on his lap and she smiled a little. "You can always finish it the next day."

He nodded slowly and set the volume away. Martha smiled again and said, "Goodnight!"

But he couldn't sleep. Restless, he turned to his side and gazed at the subject of his newest book. The stars were winking at him, as if glad to finally make his acquaintance.

He sat up and traced constellations with his little fingers. He decided that he wanted to study them – incredible, almost unreachable things. He frowned and thought of reading his book with the aid of street lamps, but discarded the idea after a few heartbeats and the sudden awareness of his blinking eyes. He did not want to wear spectacles like Eric Whalley.

After what felt like hours of wishing for telescopes, he heard something strange. At first, he thought it was from the outside, but after a moment, it seemed closer.

Billy from the next room?

But then, his wardrobe thumped.

He turned his head cautiously. He had heard of ghosts and ghouls, after all. Martha took a strange kind of delight in telling stories to the other children about ghosts from a certain war. That made them follow curfew.

Promptly deciding to ignore the wooden affair, he quickly dove under the covers and closed his eyes.

_The sun is also a star_, he thought randomly. _Then, Cassiopeia, Sirius, Arcturus, Rigel…_his mind rattled off.

A sniffle yanked his eyelids open.

Slowly, he got out of bed and quietly padded towards the wardrobe. When he was at arm's reach, he hesitated, and then readied himself to bolt out of the room. After counting in his head, he tentatively curled his fingers around the handles…then flung the doors open.

He was already half-turned towards the room's door, when he realized that no creatures of horror were after him. Twisting his head, he saw a dimmed figure of a little…_creature_.

He stood there for a moment, the lights outside illuminating his room in a surreal glow. Maybe it was an elf? It was trembling a little, and sniffling.

"Hullo?" he called softly.

It did not notice him.

He crept towards it and poked it, then quickly withdrew his hand. It sat up with a gasp, its wide glowing eyes swiveling up to him.

They stared at each other for a long, long time. Then the creature whimpered and clutched its stomach."Hungry…" it cried softly.

"Who are you?" he asked, squinting.

It stared at him again. "Harry." He got an acceptable angle and saw that it was not an elf, but a thin boy in very loose night clothes. "Who are you, then?"

"I'm Tom."

Cautiously, Tom sat cross-legged across the wardrobe, gazing at the boy. He was immensely curious and puzzled. Strange things have happened around him, but this seemed to be the strangest of them all…or perhaps, it was the wardrobe that was odd.

"This is not my cupboard," the boy, Harry, said in the same puzzled voice as Tom's mind.

"Of course not, that's my wardrobe."

A pause, then Harry said, "D-d'you have…food?" His voice was halting, as if ready to be denied.

Tom stared at Harry for a moment. He had sneaked food from the pantry after dinner and got some of Dennis' crackers when the silly boy was not looking. Perhaps Harry will stop his noisy sniffling if he ate…it's painful to be hungry.

"Yes, I have."

He stood up and reached for his wardrobe's topmost shelf, above the rail from which his clothes were hung. Harry watched him from the floor of the wardrobe and when he sat again, a little closer to the curious boy, a cardboard box was clutched between his hands.

The lid was removed and a set of Dennis Bishop's crackers in napkin was passed to Harry. The boy thanked him with so much feeling, and then started eating. Tom continued to watch him.

"Is it your bedtime?" he asked, when Harry had finished the crackers.

Harry looked uncertain. "Yes," he drew out.

"This is very strange. Don't you think so?"

"Yeah. Is this Privet Drive?"

"This is London. Did you come from Privet Drive?"

An odd sour look clouded Harry's face. "Yes."

Silence came upon them once more. But Tom himself was quivering from interest. "How did you travel from Privet Drive to London? Were you in my wardrobe the whole time?"

"I just…found myself in here. At first, I thought it was my cupboard."

"You hide in a cupboard? That is strange."

Harry's cheeks seemed to darken. "I don't know how to get back," was all he said. "I need to make breakfast."

"A mother makes breakfast, usually," Tom said, a little cold at the thought.

"I…I don't have one," Harry replied, almost inaudibly.

Silence again.

"We'll ask Mrs. Cole to help you get back."

"Okay…May I sleep in your…wardrobe?"

Tom thought for a moment. "Are you certain?"

Harry nodded slowly. "It looks like a cupboard inside."

Shrugging, Tom said, "Strange, you are. I have two pillows."

When Harry was snugly settled on an old quilt and a pillow, Tom said, "I'll leave the door slightly open – for air."

Harry agreed, smiling shakily.

When Tom woke up the next morning, only the cold quilt and the dented pillow were left on the wardrobe floor.

#####

"Such a freak," big Billy Stubbs muttered, in a nasty voice and in an ugly facial expression.

Mrs. Cole sent him a reproving look, saying, "I'll talk to you later, Billy." Then she turned back to Tom, who was not eating but being eaten instead by curiosity. "And no, dear, we have not seen 'Harry', unless you are referring to Harry the postman."

"I said, a boy Harry. The postman is _not _a boy."

"Deliver yourself more politely than that, Tom."

He bent his head, irritated. "Yes, Mrs. Cole."

Breakfast continued in the largest room of the building. The generous rays of sunlight toned down the bleakness of the white-washed walls and the black-and-white tiled floors. At the long table sat forty children, the youngest of which were positioned near Mrs. Cole, who was at the head. Martha, Emilia and two other helpers sat the other end.

"Children," Mrs. Cole called through the chatter. "Order of the day. Alan, stop smearing potatoes on the table, yes…" She then sent a quelling look at 13-year-old Ben, who was annoying the scrunch-faced Mina.

"Now," the matron continued. "Because school has just closed, I think you should still be productive during the holidays, yes?"

A chorus of agreement answered her.

"We'll have equal and appropriate assignation of cleaning and gardening during the mornings. Then the afternoons and evenings are all yours to do as you please. At the end of the month, we'll visit the countryside."

A burst of excited murmurings swept through the table. Tom tried not to be affected by the general sentiment, but he couldn't help but feel an expectation as well. He calmly ignored the hideous giggling of Amy Benson and finished his breakfast.

That night, his wardrobe remained empty of little boys.

#####

Billy's bucket of water had exploded and drenched the plump boy and his immediate part of the first floor hall. Tom thought it was justice served and continued to write his short entry for the day. Martha had seen his 'inclination to write' and Mrs. Cole praised his grammar and spelling. As such, every winter holiday, his present would be a blank little book.

He was just opening his astronomy book when he heard light knocking. He called, "It's open." A door creaked but the one on his room remained decidedly closed. Another creak and he turned his head, beholding the splayed doors of his wardrobe.

Harry's head stuck out. "Hi."

Tom stared at him, first in wonder, then elation…then petulance. He folded his arms. "You were gone. Twenty days. Billy Stubbs keeps saying you're a hairy invisible friend."

Harry became worried. "Sorry…really. But, I just woke up and found myself back at the Dursleys. It was very weird. I thought I had dreamed of everything."

Tom unfolded his arms. "The Dursleys?"

"My aunt and uncle and cousin."

"How did you get back here?"

"I dunno…I was going to sleep."

"You talk oddly."

"Well, yeah…maybe? So do you."

Tom looked at the clock. "It's seven. My bedtime is in an hour." Then, as an afterthought, "But when I'm older, it'll get late. Anyway, I'll let Martha see you."

Harry looked alarmed. "Why?"

"Then they'll believe me."

"But…but…"

"But?"

"I have to get back. I get back when I sleep here."

Tom was silent for a moment. "What would happen? If you don't get back at night?"

"I'll get grounded…or locked up for very long."

Certain that he was frowning now, Tom continued, "But will you get back_here_?"

Harry nodded shyly. "I'm excited to return. I – I like your room."

Tom smiled, almost unthinking of it. He stood up and sat in front of Harry. "I'll show you my book."

#####

"He reminds me of Billy Stubbs."

"Dudley's really fat. I'm like half of him."

"Billy Stubbs is also large. And he's also nasty."

Harry bobbed his head in sympathy. "So is my uncle."

It was Harry's fourth visit. They sat on Tom's bed that night, after three evenings with Harry in the wardrobe and Tom in front of him. The door was locked whenever the visit occurred before curfew.

Harry finished the crackers and wiped his hand on the napkin while Tom replaced the lid on the box. "We're going to the countryside next week," Tom remarked lightly. "Have you been to the countryside?"

"No."

Hearing the somewhat melancholy tone of Harry's voice, Tom looked up and peered at him more intently. "Never?"

"Never."

A brief silence followed as Harry drew his legs more closely to himself. Tom continued looking at the boy, though it was not anything new.

"Well, then," he began, drawing Harry's eyes to his face. "Our trips are very lovely. I can feel the air on my face and the sky is very bright. The grass have this – this absolute green colour and it seems as if the greenness goes on and on. Then there are white daisies, and hedges with honeysuckle and hawthorn. Sometimes, we see primroses and daffodils and birds – "

He gestured a little with his hands; wide green eyes filled wonder were fixed on him.

" – then there are boulders and smaller rocks and the sea. The sea! You should see it – sometimes calm and very alive at other times. It seems as if it has no end!"

"Isn't the sea stormy?" Harry voiced dubiously.

"Sometimes. But it is fine. The strong waves make it seem more powerful."

"The countryside sounds really beautiful."

"It is," Tom agreed. "But where do you have trips, then?"

Harry thought for a while, his small fingers abusing a corner of a pillow sheet. "Parks, sometimes. I've been only to school. They don't take me with them."

Tom hummed. "I will just draw pictures from next week, then."

Beaming, Harry nodded eagerly.

#####

Tom was smiling. Not the smile of forced politeness for Mrs. Cole, nor the smile of smug triumph for the nasty children. He was just smiling.

Harry was giggling uncontrollably, though it sounded less annoying than Amy Benson's. He reached a hand to the small bird on the floor and tried coaxing it.

"Go on, go on," Tom murmured to it.

It continued its little jig while settling itself on Harry's hand. The boy was cooing, his face bright. They were both on their stomachs on Tom's bed, arms hanging off the edges.

"How do you do it? Making Cloud dance?"

"Cloud?"

"She's the colour of clouds."

Tom snickered. Harry continued his smiling stare, clearly expecting an answer.

"Ah, how do I do it. I don't know. I just wanted – Cloud – to dance."

Harry fully turned channeled attention to him, though the petting of plump Cloud's feathers continued. "Really? That's wicked!"

"Not really," he replied, somewhat confused. Then he said, "Can you do something 'wicked', then?"

Biting his lip, Harry thought for a moment. Tom watched the fingers going through the white-grey feathers.

"Well," Harry started. "Couple of days ago, something weird happened…"

"Go on."

"Aunt Petunia really wanted me to have Dudley's old sweater. But it looks so horrible. Brown like mud, and there are orange circles all over it!"

Tom made a face in sympathy, though only after he had laughed.

"Aunt Petunia was putting it on me," Harry continued, smiling in a horrified way, making quite a funny picture with his scrunched face. "But I thought, I don't want it! She was putting it on me for like…forever. Because it keeps shrinking till it can fit only a puppet." Harry laughed a little.

"That's fascinating," Tom noted, thinking of Dudley's size and the size of a puppet. There was a  
chance that Harry could also be special.

They were silent for a moment, the night wind blowing through the top of their heads. Harry was smiling at the bird while Tom watched him.

"You really like Cloud."

"Yes," Harry admitted. A pause, then, "Will you keep him, please?"

Tom considered for a while. Harry's smile when Cloud did tricks was nicer than any smiles Tom  
had ever seen. It did not look nasty, polite, stupid or proper. It looked…happy.

"I will," he smiled back.

#####

"Give me that!"

"I don't think so. It was you who broke the chair I was standing on yesterday!"

"I was feet away from you, silly! You weren't careful! Now give that here!"

Tom was boiling with hate and anger. How dare that stupid boy provoke him like this! But then…he was also gripped with something odd, nameless – Billy Stubbs had Cloud in his filthy paws.

But Billy Stubbs just curled his lip in that nasty way of his and his large fingers ever so slowly began  
curling more tightly around Cloud's plump body. Tom snarled and launched himself at the other boy, determined to win back the bird.

A struggle ensued, with Tom scratching and yanking at the larger boy's arms and with Billy holding the bird above his head.

"You oddity – "

"How dare you – sneaking – into _my _room – !"

He stepped on Billy's foot and tried to climb up the bulky body while pressing his palm on the chubby face. Billy was shouting and attempting to ward him away, stumbling backwards. But their brawl had the benefit of the backyard exclusivity.

Tom felt one of the hands wrench his hair, then the neck of his shirt. But he kept scratching and hitting at the hateful face, doing his best to reach the wanted hand.

And then the riot of limbs and hateful spitting stopped. They grew silent, because Tom halted his attacks on Billy. They could hear the other children a few yards away.

On the orphanage's brick wall behind Billy Stubbs, Cloud was limply crushed between the stones and the chubby palm.

#####

The green eyes were glowing more than ever. But that was because of tears. Harry was kneeling on the floor, crying over Clouds body.

"W – we had h – him for a nearly a year…" He wiped his nose noisily.

Tom sat beside him, silent. Harry visited again, three weeks after the brawl.

Several minutes passed before Harry's face became clean with the help of his palm and his night shirt. He grew quiet, save for the occasional hiccup.

"H – how?"

"Billy Stubbs."

Harry's lip thinned, and his eyes grew distant for a moment. He was probably thinking of his cousin, Dudley Dursley.

"Don't fret," Tom soothed. "The nasty boy got what he deserved."

At the other boy's questioning look, he said, "His rabbit was found dead."

Harry said nothing and faced the bird again. Cloud was wrapped in napkin and ready to be placed in a bread box. Seeing the trembling lower lip, Tom opened his cardboard box and paused, his hand hovering over a set of crackers. He sighed a little and picked up a muffin from the pantry.

Harry smiled a little as he started nibbling on the food. He ate as Tom,, somewhat uncomfortable, placed the bird in the breadbox.

Then Harry muttered, shyly, "Cloud was a really nice friend…but you're my first best friend, Tom."

He looked at Harry, feeling odd in a nice way.

"And you are mine."

#####

" – only photographs. Let's go!" Tom whispered urgently, a little irritated.

Harry finally moved away from the framed portraits. "But they're wicked! Looking all ancient, with no colour!"

Tom made hushing gestures. "Move quickly. Of course they have no colours – "

They stopped a few feet away from a half-hidden boy with brown curls. He was squinting a little, clutching a pillow to his chest.

All three of them stood in silence for a few moments, with the flickering of the lamp at the end of the hall as the only distraction. Then Tom handed his muffins to Harry and walked towards the other boy.

"Are you going back to your room, Eric?"

"Yes."

Tom nodded. "Then this stays quiet."

"O – of course."

"Tell the truth. Will you not tell anyone of this?"

"No, no."

Tom nodded serenely again, then turned back towards Harry. He retrieved his share of muffins and murmured, "I'm never taking you again to the pantry."

They reached the safety of Tom's room and only then did Harry say, "Why not? Really, it's very adventurous!"

"Adventurous?" Tom asked in annoyance. "We will get caught, more likely."

"Maybe," Harry grinned, unmoved. "Maybe not."

#####

"At the bank. Maybe. My teacher says I'm good in numbers."

"For me, I want to study stars. Or perhaps rocks. Stars are rocks too, you know."

"Yeah, it's in your book."

They were on the bed, eating the muffins Tom had sneaked from the pantry. The food from that storage was more delicious than Dennis Bishop's crackers.

"Alfred Green was talking about university and such. He's seventeen and Mrs. Cole's really delighted of his studiousness and brains."

"You're smart too, you know."

"Thank you," Tom chuckled. "But I was trying to tell you…we should go to the same university when time comes."

Harry scratched his neck. "Uncle Vernon…he's talking about sending Dudley to Smeltings, while I go to a less fancy school. I dunno if they'll let me go to a university."

"Do not worry," Tom said, picking up another muffin. "Maybe we can persuade him."

Harry frowned, uncertain.

"I can speak to snakes," Tom assured the boy. "Surely, I can deal with your uncle."

"You can speak to snakes?"

"Yes," he smirked. "I found out on a trip. Well…Amy Benson and Dennis Bishop also found out, but they decided to keep it to themselves."

"Wicked! Can you show me?"

"I'll show you sometime," Tom replied, satisfied with himself.

"I'll keep it to myself," Harry said, earnestly.

Tom smiled.

#####

"I haven't got photographs of them. But I think my father's alive."

"Yeah, me too. About the photos."

"I'm thinking of looking for him," Tom continued. "They say I was named after him."

Harry smiled a little. "Good luck."

He slung an arm around the boy's shoulders. "I'll introduce you, if that ever happens. I hope he'll like us."

#####

Suddenly, Harry stopped visiting.

Tom would open his wardrobe every morning. It still contained his cardboard box of precious trinkets, but it was empty of its prized content. He would fancy the wooden object as a thing full of life. There were the top and the yo-yo from an argument; a mouth organ from a failed trip partner; a silver thimble from sneaking to Mrs. Cole; a set of Dennis Bishop's crackers; a couple of muffins from outwitting the helpers. And Harry.

_Perhaps tomorrow_, Tom thought everyday. The visits never had a definite pattern, anyway.

Summer passed. Then autumn. He turned eleven on winter. Harry never came out of his wardrobe.

_Mrs. Cole thinks I need to see a doctor,_ he wrote. _She said, 'This again, Tom? It was fine when you were nine, but you're becoming a young man everyday.' I do not need a doctor! Harry is a real person._

_Perhaps his uncle got him, _he scratched furiously._ When I become old enough, I'll look for him too. I am not afraid of his uncle and cousin. I have punished for him. I will punish them for him._

_People to find:_

_1. Tom Riddle I_

_2. Harry Dursley_

**_fin_**


End file.
